Daemon

Animated cobwebs stretched. A dialog box appeared reading ‘Loading Map … ‘
    NSA Tech: Connection severed to CyberStorm server. We’re establishing a connection to an IP address assigned to a domain in … South Korea
.
    Philips: Are the packets really routing there?
    NSA Tech: Stand by
.
    Philips: Get us a fix as soon as possible
.
    In a few moments the map was loaded. Philips’s character moved out into a medieval hall, with a gallery on either side above and pennants hanging down bearing heraldic symbols. Set into the wall straight ahead was a statue of a man, disqui-etingly similar to Sobol, in flowing robes, hands outstretched. Virtual water glimmered like a fountain as it rolled down each cheek from his eyes. Mineral stains marked the path. A perpetual fountain of tears.
    A black-robed figure stood before the statue like a sentinel blocking her way. Its face was lost in shadow.
    NSA Tech: It’s fingering us, Doctor. I didn’t spoof our IP address
.
    Philips: It’s okay, Chris, I didn’t ask you to
.
    The hooded figure snapped alert suddenly, then raised a finger and pointed at her.
    Guardian: You don’t belong here!
    Lightning arced from that finger in her general direction, and the Blue Screen of Death filled their view.
    Then everything went black.
    NSA Tech: We are down! Down, down, down!

Chapter 29:// Memory
    Pete Sebeck stared at a dimple in the concrete of his cell wall. It was the only imperfection in an unrelenting sameness. It was his secret – a place upon which to center his mind as the world turned unseen around him.
    It might have been night outside, but it was never dark in here. There was nothing even to mark the passage of time, and if there was, they would erase it. He was watched constantly. A fluorescent fixture buzzed light down on him from overhead. Surveillance cameras in mirrored enclosures on two ceiling corners recorded his every movement. A microphone his every utterance. He was alone, but never alone. As a high-profile prisoner, no expense had been spared to monitor him 24/7 – guarding against the possibility that he might harm himself before the government could mete out justice.
    As Sebeck lay staring at the wall, his memories were still raw nerves. Each turn of his mind made him wince.
    Worth losing everything for
. That’s what he used to tell himself about Cheryl Lanthrop. She was beautiful, but there was more to it than that. It was what that reflected about him. That he was worthy of attracting such a successful, confident person. Why did he think she would want him? What part of him nursed such fantasies? That was the sad truth of it. He was ripe for programming. He was ready to suspend disbelief to live that life. He hadn’t wanted to know the truth – not about her and definitely not about himself.
    They said Lanthrop was dead now. If she had only confided in him. Perhaps he would have done the right thing. To his shame, he wasn’t certain.
    The trial had been a fast-moving media circus. He wasshocked at how incriminating the evidence against him was. In hindsight he felt it should have been obvious that he was being set up – Lanthrop urging him to secrecy. And then there were the things he had no knowledge of that crucified him. The files on his computer. Lists and corporate documents, all digitally shredded – but incompletely. A passport under the fictitious name Michael Corvus. The travels of that fictitious name, establishing offshore bank accounts and corporations. The credit card purchases and corporate officerships. The offshore payments and records of phone calls to Pavlos and Singh. The e-mail accounts detailing a convenient, media-friendly conspiracy.
    Everyone believed that Sebeck was responsible for the deaths of all those people – and of Aaron Larson. He recalled the several times Larson sought guidance from him. Sebeck had refused the role of mentor. Being a father figure to anyone was the last thing he wanted.
    Sebeck could hardly blame the public for hating him. The evidence was wide and deep. The clincher was that Sebeck did, indeed, have an affair with Cheryl Lanthrop. What they did together seemed merely kinky and strange at the time – but when combined with the mountain of evidence against him, it revealed a person quite different from the public face of Detective Sergeant Peter Sebeck, decorated officer and dedicated family man. So different that he had begun to question it himself.
    His wife, Laura, surprised him, though. He